


This is my city!

by asamandra



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood, I mean it!!, It's getting ugly, M/M, Mutilation, Prompt Fill, Rape, Serial Killer, Torture, dark!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asamandra/pseuds/asamandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil had to admit that this wasn't the worst coping mechanism he had seen in all his time with Shield. Close, but not the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is my city!

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt on avengerkink: [Gen or Clint/Any, Clint is a serial killer AU](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/17613.html?thread=41522637#t41522637)
> 
> AU in which everything is the same, but some times at night, Clint goes and finds a murder or a rapist or a drug dealer and murders him or her slowly and painfully. A few others know of course - Coulson and Nat and Hill and Fury, who all cover up for him when needed. After all, that's not the worst coping mechanism Clint could have. Close, but not the worst.

When Coulson saw Clint come back from his mission he knew, this night would be one of _these_ nights. He watched the SHIELD undertaker and his employees unload the bodies of the dead agents and closed his eyes. Yes, definitely one of these nights. Coulson went to his office and locked the door. 

 

 

He turned in his bed restlessly for a long while before he decided to get up. He would wake up Tony and the other man went to bed only a short time ago and he needed his sleep. He sure as hell hadn't slept too much in the last few days. He never did when he was on a mission. But his brain couldn't stop thinking. Every call, every move, every single mission detail popped up, mocked him and laughed at him constantly and he knew, he _knew_ that it wasn't his fault that the mission went south, he knew it. But it felt as if it was his fault. He felt the anger in his throat, his hands itched and he finally went out onto the deck, looked over the city, _his_ city and he felt even more anger bubble up and his hands tremble. They are down there, mocking him, laughing at him, ruining everything he worked for in all these years and he could taste the anger on his tongue. He should go back to bed, should try to sleep but then he heard another police siren down there and he slammed his hand on the railing. He pressed his lips together and went back inside, went to the locked chest in their bedroom. The one Tony had promised him to never touch. He took the key he had around his neck and unlocked it and with a grim smile around his lips he opened it.

 

 

He knew he didn't have to wait long. He never had to wait long. In this part of the city every few minutes someone gets attacked, robbed, raped, murdered or worse. He sat on the roof of an old three-storey building and watched the streets below him when he heard a scream. Like a shadow he moved on the roofs and searched for the source of the scream. There, in the backyard of a dubious bar he finally saw his target. A man just pressed a young woman against a wall, her shirt was torn, her skirt thrust aside and she struggled violently but the guy just laughed and continued to shove his dick in her. He pressed his lips together and took two deep breaths before he jumped down on the outside of the fire escape. Only a few seconds later he was on him, grabbed him at his arm and shoulder and pulled him back, threw him onto the ground and delivered a hard blow against his temple. The guy was out like a light in an instant. The woman screamed even more but when he pointed with his head at the exit she straightened her clothes as well as in any way possible and ran, ran as if the devil himself was behind her. And in a way it was true. With a grim smile he grabbed the ankle of the guy and dragged him to the old gray van with tinted windows not far away. He loved this van, he had rented a garage for it and no one knew, that it existed. Well, Phil knew. But no one else. 

He didn't care that the guy's clothes were shredded when he arrived at his van. He won't be needing clothes anymore when he was done with him. Unceremoniously he threw the man into the car and tied his hands with zip ties on his back. He always had a bundle of them in the van. He tied his feet to his hands and gagged him with duct tape before he threw a blanket over him, just in case. With a tiny smile on his face he started the engine and drove away. 

 

 

Clint didn't need to drive too far. There was this old factory, closed because in danger of collapsing. But he knew that there were parts still safe enough. He knew it because he had used it before. And he could drive in with the van and no one would disturb him for a long time. It was one of his favorite locations.

By the time they arrived the guy was awake. He removed his balaclava, went around the car, opened the side door, removed the blanket and smirked down at his captive and he saw the guy pale. He loved the moment when one of the predators realized that he or she just met a more dangerous predator. The guy tried to yell and to say something but he just ignored him. He had heard everything from all the others before him, he didn't need to hear his excuses as well. 

The tied man paled even more when he took his knife but he only cut the zip ties that bound his legs. When he grabbed his arm to pull him out of the van he tried to struggle but the first tiny cut in the soft skin beneath his left eye let him consider his decision again. But of course he knew that the man would try to escape. All of them had tried it and this one was no exception. When he tried to knock him over with his shoulder, he stepped away and the guy landed on the floor, face down. 

“Get up,” he snarled and the guy stared at him defiantly but when he sighed, tsk-tsked and shook his head the man's eyes went wide. Clint grabbed the tied hands and pulled him to the place where he had his equipment. When he let go of him the guy slumped down and watched him warily but when he switched on the lights and the man realized what would happen to him he screamed into his gag and tried to crawl away. 

He wasn't the first to try this. Clint was on him in an instant, snapped a carabiner around the zip ties and he couldn't move away anymore. He used a pulley to get the man up and that was painful to put it mildly. At first he had to stand up, then the chain forced him into a strappado but Clint didn't stop, he pulled his arms up and up till he heard the bones crunch and only when the man screamed again into his gag he stopped. 

He took his knife again and started to cut away the clothes. He wasn't too careful and when he was naked he had quite a few cuts and blood trickled over his body. Now Clint took the time to watch his prey. The man was huge, as huge as Steve maybe, he was older than him, had graying hair and a beard and gray chest hair. He wasn't too muscular, probably too much beer and bar snacks. Clint saw blood on his dick and growled slightly. He had hurt the poor woman but he was going to pay for it. Apparently the man was once in the army, he had a tattoo on his shoulder from his unit and that was Clint's first target. He took the knife and started to cut the skin around the tattoo and then he shoved the knife into the wound and peeled it up. The man screamed and closed his eyes but when he heard the wet sound of his own flesh slapping onto the table nearby he nearly lost it and started to struggle. It took only a few seconds and Clint heard the crunching sound again. He had broken his shoulder joints and blacked out. 

Clint went out of the pool of light to one of the few taps still working in this building and filled a bucket with water. He threw it over the man's head when he was back and he jerked awake, glared furiously at him. _Time to get rid of the gag_ , he thought.

He ripped off the tape, took the chair he sometimes used for an [estrapade](http://a51.idata.over-blog.com/333x500/3/18/39/95/21--Depuis-mai-2011/04-AOUT-2011/aout-2011-02/742b2-musee-historique-d-Heraklion--estrapade.JPG) and sat down, crossed his legs and looked at his prisoner.

“What do you want?” the man asked warily but Clint could clearly see that he wanted to say something else. 

“I want to kill you. Slow and painful. What do you want?” 

“Lemme go,” he demanded but Clint only chuckled. 

“Let me think about it... no!”

“Why are you doing this?” the guy asked and he could hear the fear in his voice.

“Do you have any idea what you've just done? What you've done to her? Do you know how deep you hurt her? She will be a victim for the rest of her live. She will look over her shoulders whenever she leaves her house, she will never trust a person anymore completely, she's scarred, her soul is scarred. And you ask me why I'm doing this?”

“Is she your sister or what?” the man spat now angrily and Clint grinned his patented Clint Barton, Shield-agent, assassin, serial killer grin that had scared so many more dangerous people before.

“No. But you've done the wrong thing on the wrong day in the wrong part of my city.” He rose and put the tape back over his mouth. He didn't need to hear him scream to know that he was in pain. 

Clint went to the van to get the bag he usually had locked in his chest. He opened it and placed the items on the table and the man paled when he saw all the knifes, the scalpels, the axe, the whips and floggers and clamps, the modified taser, the cattle prod, the needles and branding iron. And then the guy started to scream and struggle again. 

Clint pursed his lips and looked at his stuff, back at the guy and decided to start with a knife. He went to the man, forced his head back with one hand and bared his hairy chest. 

“People shall see what we have here,” he murmured and started to carve RAPIST in his skin. He took his time, stopped after each letter and traced it with his finger before he _wrote_ the next letter.

When the guy passed out Clint went to fetch the next bucket with water and poured it over his head. And then, when he saw him dripping wet he looked at the cattle prod. Yes, now would be the right moment. The man's eyes went wide when he saw the sparks of electricity at the end of the stick and he screamed again, when the electrodes touched his arm. 

Clint was thorough. He started at the arms and worked his way down over his back and ass to the legs and then up at the front. And he loved the screams when he pressed the stick between his legs at his balls. Clint kept quiet, just watched the man writhe in pain and when hung in his chains, barely conscious, Clint stopped, sat down and opened a bottle of water. He drank slowly and watched the man groaning, he saw the tears in his eyes and the blood dripping over his chest, he smelled the burnt skin and looked at his equipment to decide what he wanted to do next. His eyes got caught by the riding crop. Yes, a good, thorough whipping would be nice. 

He rose, patted the man's cheek to catch his attention and when he saw the horrified glance he smiled at him, took the crop and went behind him. At first he only touched his back with the crop and the guy flinched violently. He knew what would follow but he flinched nevertheless. Clint moved his hand and a second later the crop landed on the man's back with an ugly sound and he yelped. He saw the welt form and Clint couldn't resist, he had to touch it with his fingers. He loved to touch fresh welts with his fingers, they were so painful and usually the receivers made such nice noises. This one was no exception. He took the crop again and beat him a few more times before he stopped and prodded the welts. He knew how they felt, he had been in this position himself. Long time ago. The man tried to move away but the way he was tied made it impossible. He only would hurt himself even more and so he just cried. He cried like a baby and Clint went around, looked very close at his eyes and patted his shoulders. 

“Don't worry, it will be over soon. In a few hours or so,” he smiled and went back to flog him till he was unconscious.

He waited. He sat down on his chair and this time he waited for the man to wake up. It didn't take too much time though. He went to the table with his stuff and opened his bag again. When he turned the guy started to struggle even more, despite his broken shoulders. 

“What? You don't like to get a taste of your own medicine?” Clint looked at him with raised eyebrow and then at the dildo he had in his hand. “You didn't ask her either if she wanted it, did you? You've just taken what you wanted. People like you are the worst scum. You just take what's not yours to take and no one bothers to think about the consequences. It's her body, it's her right to decide who's allowed to touch, but you? You've taken that from her.” Clint's voice was calm but the man could hear the venom in it. “This is something she never will forget.” For a moment he closed his eyes, felt hands who held him, hands who took what wasn't theirs to take and he took a breath. “It's not as if she just got robbed. Do you understand that?” Clint looked at the man, his head cocked and he saw his eyes clouded by pain. When he walked around him he touched him and the guy flinched. He touched him with the dildo and the man tried to move away but the way he was bound made it impossible. “You can replace a wallet and the money and a watch, a purse, all the stuff that's in there. But there's one thing you can't replace. Ever. Trust. Trust in other people. But that's something people like you can't understand. So it's my job to make you understand.” He grinned and when he was once again on his back he stopped and with practiced hand he spread his cheeks and shoved the dildo in his ass. The man screamed so high pitched and Clint saw blood trickle down his legs. “You like that?” he whispered mockingly into his ear from behind, removed the dildo just to shove it back a second later. He repeated it a few times more before he went to his table, took the duct tape and secured the dildo in its place with it. 

“People like you, you don't deserve to live. You don't deserve it. Not when others, good people, have to die because of you. Do you know how many people kill themselves after getting raped? You have no idea, right?” Clint took one of the scalpels now and walked back to the man. “Too many. And people like you go home after what you've done, go to your bed and sleep as if nothing ever happened.” He cut him on his arm, just a tiny cut and watched the blood trickle down. He took his time, walked around him and every now and then he made another tiny cut. Nearly an hour later the man was covered in blood and barely conscious, he had stopped screaming half an hour ago, only groaned sometimes. 

Clint put the scalpel aside and watched his work. He wasn't finished. Not yet. But when he saw the man's glance he removed the tape over his mouth. 

“What...” he croaked, his throat dry and hoarse from screaming. “What makes you better than me?” he managed after a few tries and Clint stopped, pursed his lips and looked at him. 

“That's a good question.” He sat down again and scratched his head. “I guess I'm not so much better than you, well, apart from the fact that I only kill people like you and not some innocent.” He sighed and felt old right now. Really, really old. “But to make sure that I don't turn into a monster like you I made a deal with a friend. He's the one who takes care that your body disappears afterwards by the way. I made a deal with him some years ago and I know that it's a bit selfish but he had agreed. The moment I can't control myself anymore, the moment I become like you, the moment I attack innocent people he offs me.” 

“You _are_ like me already,” the man chuckled and Clint saw the tiny dots of blood mottle the floor beneath him.

“No. There's one difference between us. I only kill people who deserves it. I do that for a living, you know? But in all the time I've never killed someone who didn't deserve it and... like I said... the moment I do, I go.” Clint went to the table and looked at the watch. 5 am already. 

“Hmm, guess we need to hurry up a bit, my boyfriend hates to wake up alone. Time to finish here. Anything you want to say?” 

The man shook his head. He had realized that he couldn't say anything to convince him to let him go. They all did at some point. Usually when he told them about Phil. 

Clint looked him over. The tiny cuts were painful and they bled but he didn't have lost too many blood to die. No, he could have a little bit more fun with him. 

He took his pruning shears and the duct tape, gagged the violently struggling guy before he grabbed his leg and cut off his little toe. He screamed and Clint removed the next toe till only the big toe was left. He repeated the same on the other foot and the man could barely stand afterwards but to try to hang in the chains was even more painful and he nearly passed out. Clint was always stunned how much pain the human body was able to endure before shutting down. 

This guy's feet were covered in blood but he wasn't ready. Not at all. 

“You're a rapist. You get the rapist special treatment.” Clint said when he cleaned his shears in the water bucket. He grinned when he stepped very close to the man, looked in his eyes, with the pruning shears in hand and then reached between his legs, grabbed his balls and his dick. 

The man shook his head and Clint lifted a brow. “You don't want this? Well, that's bad luck. You didn't ask that woman you've raped if she wants it either.” This time he passed out when he heard his testicles fall to the floor into the puddle of blood. Clint knew that he was in a hurry now so he couldn't wait for him to wake. He poured the water from the bucket over his head and he woke and screamed even more. 

“We're not done and you're not allowed to die already.” Clint grabbed his dick and a moment later it ended up beside his testicles on the floor. He threw the shears away and took the [karambit](http://www.coldsteel-uk.com/store/nightshade-series-fgx-karambit-92fk-full-1.jpg). 

“Look at me.” He grabbed his hair with the other hand and forced him to look at him. “Because I am the last thing you will see,” Clint murmured quietly before he moved the knife over his eyes in a well practiced motion and in the next moment blood and other liquids ran over the man's face and he had two long cuts over his eyes. He screamed and screamed into his gag.

Clint didn't stop now, he knew he ran out of time. He held the knife tight and opened the femoral arteries, the axillary arteries and the common carotid arteries with it and then he went back and watched him bleed out. When the guy sagged down in the ties and stopped breathing Clint exhaled. He looked at his hands and they were calm now. 

He went to the tap for the last time, cleaned his hands, filled the bucket and carried it back to the table. He cleaned all the tools he had used thoroughly, dried them and put them back in the bag. He threw the bag into the van and closed the door, took his phone and sent Phil a message with the location before he opened the doors and drove out. He closed the doors behind himself and drove to the garage to park his van. 

He had a small shower cubicle built in and cleaned and disinfected himself, changed back into the clothes he wore when he came here and put the blood stained set into a plastic bag. He locked the van in and went to his motorcycle. Before he drove back to the tower he had to get rid of the clothes. He knew this old apartment building where he lived once and he knew that it was easy to get into the basement and he knew the heating system there. No one would find these clothes anymore.

 

 

Phil was in his office. More than once he stared at the locked door. He hated _these_ nights but he knew that Clint needed it. It was his way to deal with all the shit and Phil had to admit that this wasn't the worst coping mechanism he had seen in all his time with Shield. Close, but not the worst. He had tried to work but as usual he couldn't. He sat in his chair, stared at the door, at the picture on the wall beside the door, at his couch, at the file cabinets and at the glass in front of him. For days like these he had a bottle of bourbon in his desk. He didn't have to buy it. It always appeared and he knew that it came from Clint. He waited and then, about 6 am he got the message. **The Factory**.

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. That was bad. The factory always was bad. Rapist or child murderer he assumed. He opened the bottle, filled the glass and emptied in two big swallows before he took his phone and called Agent Moreau and her cleaner team. She knew what to do with the evidence. She had removed it more than once. He refilled the glass and emptied it as fast as the first one before he laid down at his couch. Moreau would call him in a few hours and he didn't have the nerve to drive home now with alcohol in his system. Just a nap because he couldn't watch the pictures she would show him sleep-deprived. At least, he thought, he didn't have to cope with Agent Lam anymore. He had been far worse than Barton.

 

 

When he was back in the penthouse he found Tony fast asleep in their bed and he smiled. He looked so adorable when he slept. Quietly he locked his bag in the chest, put the key around his neck, stripped out of his clothes and slid into the bed behind Tony, snuggled up to him and wrapped his arm around his middle. He could hear the other man mumble something unintelligible and then he felt Tony's hands on his. He placed a kiss on Tony's shoulder and his head against his back before he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> [asamandra on tumblr](http://asamandra.tumblr.com/)


End file.
